


Fool for You

by amukmuk



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/pseuds/amukmuk
Summary: Four times Bly is a fool in love and one where he still is, but so is Aayla.
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Comments: 38
Kudos: 186





	Fool for You

**Author's Note:**

> This was from an anonymous request on tumblr: “Honesty”, “compliment” and “blanket” cuz I thought they seemed pretty fluffy. Hope you’re having a good day!

**One.**

Bly stands at perfect attention. His heels are together, his back is straight, his shoulders are back, and his chin is uplifted. His General, Jedi Knight Secura, has just docked and with a hydraulic hiss, the doors uplift. He stiffens further. This is it. This is what he was made for. He shall serve his general with every fiber of his being, he will follow his every command, he will follow him to the ends of the galaxy-- 

A blue twi’lek woman emerges and every coherent thought Bly has, flies out the viewport. 

She’s beautiful. She’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Her skin is the color of a rare sunny day on Kamino, her lips are a faint pink color and her eyes, oh her eyes. They are the most beautiful shade of amber he has ever seen and that is coming from a man who has seen nothing but amber and deep brown eyes. 

“Commander?”

He jerks back to reality. “G-General, sir!” 

“What is your name, Commander?” 

He has a feeling that this isn’t the first time she asked. “CC-5052, sir.”

Her lips flatten into a thin line and he is afraid that maybe he has done something wrong _already_ . He will _never_ hear the end of it if his batchmates find out he karked up within five minutes of his first day as Marshal Commander. _Typical Bly_. 

“I refuse to call a man by a number, Commander. Do you have a proper name?”

His mind, for the second time that day, screeches to a halt. “Yes, sir. My brothers call me Bly.”

She smiles. “Bly.”

His name sounds delicious dripping from her lips. Her beautiful, pink, lush - 

Oh no. 

_Absolutely not_. 

“Yes, sir,” he says. He really hopes that she is making fun of his name so that he has a reason to dislike her because right now he wants to worship the ground she walks on. 

“Well, Commander Bly, my name is Aayla Secura. I look forward to learning from your expertise.” 

She gives him a salute in incorrect form, but he can’t help but return the gesture. 

Learn from his expertise? 

She turns to leave and, as he watches her walk away, he promises to always have her back. 

**Two.**

They run through a grassy field with very little cover. It hadn’t been the best plan, but he had tried to respect her command. If he were making the battle plan, he would have attacked from the south where there was more security, but also more cover. 

Either way, he has a job to do and he is _not_ going to fail. 

“Come on men!” He shouts. “Move it move it! Let’s go!” 

The men of the 327th charge forward at the battle droids. It feels like just as many brothers are falling as battle droids, but his General is dancing through the battle effortlessly. She is a deadly blur of blue. Once an enemy registers her presence, they are already sliced in half. She saves a few of their men this way, jumping between them and an incoming blaster bolt that certainly would have been their untimely death. 

And then the assassin droids arrive. 

General Secura meets them fearlessly, striking them down, but she leaves her flank exposed. Bly instantly charges for her, covering her back and firing bolts at the regular battle droids. In the brief quiet before the next wave, she turns to him. “Thank you, for having my back.”

“Always, General.”

The smile she gives him feels like a blaster bolt to the heart and he has to physically shake his head to prepare for the second wave. 

**Three**. 

They stand around the table in the briefing room, combing over maps and blueprints. Almost every clone has turned in for the night and the skeleton crew that runs at night has made themselves scarce. The only sounds in the briefing room are their breathing and the hum of the venator cruising through hyperspace. 

“I think it would be best if we attack from the west,” she points to the map. “We can try to overwhelm their forces.”

Bly nods. “That’s a good plan, sir.”

She sits back and arches an eyebrow. “But you disagree.”

He says nothing. As a commander, he should be able to follow every order she gives, but she also has this aura that welcomes his input. 

“I don’t _exactly_ disagree,” he clarifies. 

“Bly, all I ask is for your honesty. I’m no soldier.”

He softens and leans over the table to pull up a different map. “I suggest we send the majority of our forces to the west, but send a smaller squad through the defenses on the east. Once we start the initial onslaught, all their forces will be moved to the west, giving our men the ability to sneak through the facility and disable their defenses. Then we will be able to take the command center.”

She considers the map and his idea, with her chin resting in her delicate blue fingers. It’s amazing really, that her hands can be so delicate, but so deadly. 

He is just deadly; there isn’t a single delicate thing on him. 

She nods. “This is an excellent plan, Commander. Thank you. Do you think we could go over some more battle plans? I want to pick your brain.”

“It’s, ah, getting late, General.”

“Right,” she smiles sadly. 

“But I can put on a pot of caf,” he offers. 

She smiles and his heart stutters. “Would you?”

“Anything for you, General.”

Her smile - and he didn’t think this was possible - doubles in size. “Thank you, Bly.”

He turns to the caf pot, hoping she doesn’t see the way his face has turned dark red. He just really loves the way she says his name. And he really loves the idea of staying up well into the night with her. Being with her like this - in the quiet of a restful ship, drinking caf - brings him peace. 

**Four.**

Bly enters the training room and immediately wants to turn around. He knows. He _knows_ that he has a crush on his general. He has been avoiding the feelings for months now, but has decided that acceptance is the first step towards recovery. 

So he _accepts_ that he has a crush. 

That doesn’t mean he wants to _deal_ with it constantly. 

But right now, all of those emotions that he actively keeps locked down come flooding back, nearly drowning him as he watches his General spar in a simulation. She’s deadly. Swift. Breath-taking. All of it wrapped up and tied with a bow of effortless serenity. 

Her lekku swing with her hips as she rolls, jumps, tumbles and destroys droid after droid. He can’t move. He can’t think. He can only watch and commit every curve of her sweaty form to memory. 

The worst part of his crush isn’t even that he finds her just physically attractive. 

It is that he finds _all_ of her irresistible. She’s brilliant. She’s selfless. She’s kind. Hell, she has saved his life more than once, declaring that he isn’t replaceable. He can’t even argue with her because the conviction in which she says those words convinces him that maybe he is worth something. 

And he loves her for it. 

No. 

_No._

He is _not_ in love with his General. That would be asinine. That would be insanity. That would be - 

“Can I help you with something, Bly?” Aayla saunters up to him, the sway of her hips making his throat go dry. She towels off her neck and chest and he wants to drop dead. 

“Ah, no. No, sir.”

“Are you alright?” She asks. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

Oh yes. Oh yes, he has very many _illegal_ things on his mind. “No. Ah. I mean.” He grabs the back of his neck. Would it be too much to ask for the Force to just strike him down? “You fight good,” he blurts. 

Her lips curve up into a smile. “I fight ‘good’?”

He wants to kick himself in the ass. “Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps you would like to see how ‘good’ I am first hand?” She hands him a training staff. “The simulations are too easy and I would like a challenge.”

He swallows. “Yessir.”

He loses every match. 

And when she pins him to the ground, he decides he would willingly lose every other spar for the rest of his life if it meant she would be on top of him again. 

**Plus One.**

Well that hadn’t been good. 

One minute he remembers shouting for Aayla to get out of the blast zone and the next thing he knows he’s in the medbay. His first coherent thought, though, is that he is freezing and the second is that someone is snoring. 

Stiffly, because his back aches and his shoulders ache and his neck aches and he’s not entirely certain if there is not an achy part of him right now, he looks over to the corner. Aayla is curled up on a spare chair, her knees tucked up into her chest. 

“General,” he croaks. 

She snorts and he is stuck by how adorable she is. She looks so tiny, so defenseless. He should probably let her sleep, but he would very much like more pain meds and a blanket, and he doesn’t think he could raise his voice loud enough to call for a medic. “Aayla,” he tries again. 

She jerks and her wide eyes find him. “Oh, Bly!” She is up in an instant and settling gently on the side of the gurney. “I was so worried. You’ve been out for days now. We were afraid we would have to take you to a medical frigate.”

He gives her a weak smirk. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, General.”

She shakes her head. “No titles right now.” 

He tries to nod, but hisses in pain. 

“What can I get you?”

“Water? Pain meds? I-I’m freezing.”

She is up, scurrying around before he can ask for her to just get the medic. 

He doesn’t like her waiting on him hand in foot. It is his duty to look after her, though he finds it more of a privilege. He shouldn’t be a burden like this. If only he had moved faster, gotten out of the blast zone himself. 

She holds the water canteen up to his lips so that he can drink. He tries to take it from her hands, but he feels so weak and shaky that he just accepts the water from her. Then she hands him a cup with a few pills and he knocks them back like a shot at 79s. 

Man, he wishes it was a shot at 79s. 

Aayla is sitting so close he can smell her and it's intoxicating. Maybe if he were half inebriated he would have the balls to finally say something. Then he thanks the stars for being sober because if he did speak his mind he would be transferred or decommissioned and then it wouldn’t be _him_ watching her back. Then it would be some brother who only saw her as a Twi’lek and not as the graceful, competent Jedi Knight that she is. 

She grabs a blanket from the cabinet and tucks it around him, careful of all the bandages and injuries. When she is confident that he and the blanket are secured she perches more permanently on the gurney. “Bly,” she murmurs. 

“Aayla,” he whispers, untucking one of his hands from the blanket and grabbing hers. “It’s okay.”

A single tear trickles down her cheek and he wants to reach up and wipe it away. He wants to take away all of her sorrow. She shouldn’t be crying over him. 

“I almost lost you,” she whispers. 

“I’m alright, see?” He gives her another smirk and she sobs a wet laugh. 

“Bly… As a Jedi, we are taught to not become attached to things. To be impartial. To be just and fair.”

He nods. He knows, they’ve talked about this. 

“But… a piece of me died when I thought I lost you.”

What?

“There is a war going on and… and I realized how foolish I have been. I cannot go on pretending I don’t feel anything towards you when in reality, you have weaved yourself into my existence in ways that I cannot untangle.”

_What?_

“Bly… I do not wish to put you in a situation where you feel that you must agree, lest you be punished. I am not speaking to you as your commanding officer. I love you, and I simply cannot go on pretending that I don’t when either of us could die tomorrow.”

He swallows and then rasps. “I love you, too.”

A smile breaks through her tears and she leans forward, capturing his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. 

He has surely died. There is no possible way that this is happening. He is kissing her and her lips are soft and warm and they taste like home. 

Because Aayla is his home. 

As much as he has weaved himself into her existence, she has done the same to him. He can’t imagine his life without her. 

She pulls away, but just far enough to rest her forehead against his. 

“Wow,” he breathes stupidly. 

She laughs and kisses him again.

What a day to be alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written Blyla before so I hope everything seems okay. I just really love Bly as a clumsy, moon-struck boi. Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Tumblr: amukmuk


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